


D is for Diary

by dennren



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: F/M, Gen, High School AU, implied perscription drug abuse, just FYI, they don't have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennren/pseuds/dennren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the diary she calls herself D. In the diary she calls him D.<br/>In the diary he calls himself D. In the diary he calls her D."</p>
            </blockquote>





	D is for Diary

In the diary she calls herself D. In the diary she calls him D.

In the diary he calls himself D. In the diary he calls her D.

“D comes home late from school smelling of cigarettes and is punished. I watch from the stairs. I go to my room and open the window and get undressed and watch myself in the mirror. I feel over my chest and my stomach and down into my pants too. Not to do anything; just to know, to feel. I feel my eyelids and my ears and the raised skin of my thumb as I rub my forefinger in circles against it again and again.”

“I get dressed without looking in the mirror. I move my eyes all around when I brush my teeth. Sometimes D hangs around outside the door waiting and I listen to that too. D sneaks pills from mom’s orange bottle. I take them at night.”

We sometimes walk to the bus together when the car feels oppressive and parental. We also walk home together, but I lag behind. D trails in front.

I’m in math class talking to Tim when

Chrissy Orlando 

smiles at me.

I smile back

with a big grin and a wave

but she’s looking at D.

My eyes well up but I don’t wipe them or get up to sharpen my pencil or go to the bathroom because I don’t want Tim, everyone else

to know. I just sit and make sure they all know.

I write a page telling myself it’s alright that it’s not alright. I listen against the wall and I don’t hear D moving around or listening to music or writing or sitting in front of the mirror.

D was lying on the floor. It was three am and D had been for hours.

I stare up at the ceiling. I moved the soft shaggy rug away to feel the splinters and knots of the cool wood floor. It was January and the window was open.


End file.
